Welcome - Snippets off the Cutting Room floor
by Malicean
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin: a companion piece to 'Welcome to the club', containing little scenes that didn't make it into the main story for reasons of pacing, perspective, etc.
1. Beside CH 38-39: Loyalty

(this could have happened if Vader was less deep into damage control and the jammed-out Palace and had taken the time to react to the capture of the fleeing Hand in person)

* * *

The bounty hunter ignored the accusation like he ignored all the glares and sneers aimed his way. The tilt of the battered helmet was for one person and one person alone. For Luke, however, there was something about the scene that took him nearly ten years back in time.

 _Old Man Windrunner had had a nek, a scarred, fearsome creature, barely obedient and certainly not one for petting. Windrunner took it hunting, occasionally, but otherwise it had a tendency to roam the countryside surrounding the remote farm on its own, disappearing for days or even weeks at a time and returning only for the water trough or to fill its belly from the feeding dish set out for it._

 _People said that it was the food it was really attached to, and that if one day it would find the dish empty, it would probably turn on its master._

 _Until the night when a band of Sandpeople had tried to raid the isolated moisture farm and the nek had torn into the intruders with a ferocity that had made this raid the last Luke had heard of[1]. He had been about twelve then, old enough to grab a gun and keep the farm safe with his aunt while Uncle Owen went out to organize help for the Windrunners, old enough to accompany Aunt Beru when she went to deal with the aftermath of the attack._

The way Fett and Vader interacted, reminded the young Jedi of that gruff old farmer putting his hand on the leathery, still bloodied shoulder afterwards, and how the nek had leaned, very briefly, into the touch before stalking away with a growl. Perhaps you didn't have to be nice about loyalty.

* * *

[1] Apparently, it had rekindled tales about a vengeful spirit guarding the outlying moisture farms, tales horrific enough that they had kept the farms safe for more than a decade around Luke's birth.


	2. Beside CH44-45: Provisions

(assume that the rearrangement of Moffs and sectors went on for a few hours more, so a recess was called and some refreshments offered)

* * *

An arrangement of pastries awaited them, both sweet and savory judging by the smell, plus some fruit on the side. A light lunch of almost-finger-food.

The Alliance personnel eyed it in indecision – except for Jix who eyed it in suspicion. In an unexpected acknowledgement of the rules of courtesy, he turned at Leia to tell her, "Sorry to say so, Your Highnessness, but you'd better wait how this stuff affects other people."

Said so and reached for a pastry glazed in spicy red.

An Alderaani soldier whose name escaped Luke at the moment laughed nervously.

"Now, that's just stupid, Wrenga, you've got more lives than a cat, you wouldn't notice poison if it bit you!"

"Feel free to play food taster beside me," the Corellian threw back coolly.

From the doorway, a throat was cleared. "A wise precaution, generally speaking. In this case, however, I will personally vouch for the untampered state of these victuals, seeing as they were prepared on _my_ ship."

The short man in the Imperial admiral's uniform smiled thinly. "We had a case of poisoned provisions a few years back – I assure you, Your Highness, I have people going over the tox screens who _know_ what they are doing."

The princess raised a politely curious eyebrow. "Admiral Piett, I presume?"

The man bowed and from the background someone burst in, sounding half incredulous, half impressed, "Wait, what?! You're meaning to tell me someone tried to poison Vader's flagship?"

"Someone tried to fraud General Supplies," Piett corrected mildly – if not without an underlying edge of steel, Luke noted. "Poison was merely a side-effect of masking the manipulation and the _Executor_ the ship with a crew diligent enough to spot the attempt."

"Which supplier?" another of Madine's men asked and the young Jedi realized belatedly that, when the Alliance acquired provisions, there was a large overlap with the sources the Empire used – _the Imperials probably had a less polite opinion on that, come to think of it._

Leia cleared her throat. "A point for another time, perhaps. Admiral, as pleasant it is to finally meet you face-to-face instead of over a comline, I am sure you have better things to do with your time than see to our lunch. So, what has brought you here?"

"Lord Vader has every intention to keep you from harm, Your Highness," the admiral gave back a little less mildly. "Besides, there are over a thousand people stationed on my ship that are currently in the Palace – to see to it that they have every chance to return **_is_** a good use of my time."


	3. Beside CH47: Accounts

(This is what happened after Zev outed himself as the son of one of the most hated rebel-hunters)

* * *

There was an awkward moment when Wedge, always one to square his accounts, tried his hand at a sort-of apology concerning "what was said after we heard that Hoth retroactively got him, too."

The Corellian's "I can't say I didn't mean it, 'cause right then, I did, but that was the grief and anger about Dak's death talking ..." was met first with mild perplexity and then cut off in unconcern.

"Forget it," Zev told him with a shrug. "For one, it wasn't _me_ you were reciting hells for, so I'm the wrong one to apologize to, anyway. And two, it's not like I didn't say some very uncomplimentary things about the people who'd destroyed the Death Star, too, when I got that _'pride and sorrow'_ after Yavin."

The first argument Luke could follow; the second, on the other hand, was as cryptic to him as it was, by the looks of things, to Wedge.

" _'With pride and sorrow, we hereby inform you'_ is the standard entry formula for a generic notification of death for next-of-kin," Leia provided unexpectedly. "I had not thought of that, but he was on the crew list of the first Death Star, wasn't he? How long did bureaucracy take to catch up?"

Wedge choked on air for a second time in the space of minutes. Han went tense in a far more belligerent way. "He what?!"

"He came across a trio of lieutenants eager for a taste of real princess," Leia said curtly, "and promptly ran them off."

Her tone did not invite further questions and after a pointed look the younger Veers answered her initial question. "Couple of weeks. Nearly two weeks longer than my father needed to get back to civilization and have the presence of mind to contact me."


	4. Beside CH50: Girls

(this is what happens while Leia and Tigellinus play good-cop-bad-cop for the representatives of the Shwuy sector)

The princess was gone, dragging Imperial top brass in her wake like flotsam caught in the undertow. Even Fel was gone to look impressive on behalf of the fighter units that had won the day, an honor and obligation that Wedge was glad to leave to his brother-in-law. Luke was perfectly capable of representing the Rogues, should anyone ask, and already a part of the delegation, so there was no need for anyone else to sit stiff and bored for hours.

 _But speaking of stiffs ..._ The Sabers had stood at perfect attention while Tigellinus and his staff were within sight – and then had cards appear from various flight-suit pockets even faster than the rebels had.

 _Well, they **did**_ _have less of a hostile environment to expect. And a Corellian for a leader._

"Fel taught his squad the Centerpoint Two-Hand?" Hobbie wondered aloud, eyes fixed on a card configuration Wedge hadn't seen since leaving Corellia. "Kriff, I think I'm starting to like the guy."

"Hey, you mind if we deal in?" Wes drawled, slinging an arm over the Rogues leader's shoulder. "You see, the fine Commander here tried his best, but it's so rare that you get more than six people together who all know the rules ..."

The Tanaabian smiled winsomely and Wedge went instantly wary. A Wes that put on the charm was a dangerous Wes.

Saber Two (another colonel, these people were really ridiculously over-qualified for a fighter squadron but, well, they served under _Fel)_ raised an eyebrow. Wedge met it with one of his own. _Yes, they're mine, but I won't be held responsible for their entertainment if they grow bored._

The other man, oddly enough, seemed to understand the look perfectly. He nodded assent.

For the first half hour, things went well.

"So, there really are girls aboard stardestroyers?" Wes asked nonchalantly, just when Wedge had started to relax.

A good dozen pairs of eyes stared at him in various shades of disbelief or irritation. Tycho and two other Rogues buried their faces in their hands.

"Yes," an Imperial finally said flatly.

"Even on this one?" the Taanabian pilot challenged.

"Yes," Sabre Two repeated, eyes turning back to his cards even as he jerked his head sidewise. "In fact, there's one right there, with the techs Tig has crawling all over that Uvy shuttle."

Wes – and, to be honest, half of the Rogues – craned their necks. The Sabers, in remarkable unison, rolled their eyes before one of the non-players nudged the younger man beside him. "Hoggaz, see if you can't use your charm and get her over. Proof of existence and all that."

The addressed Imperial smirked, ran a hand through his hair theatrically – too short-cropped to fall in any way, let alone a dashing one – and sauntered over. He spoke briefly with the group of technical personnel scanning the transport the Uviuy Exen deputation had arrived in, gesturing towards the group of fighter pilots repeatedly.

When he returned, he was accompanied by a tech that was short and stout, but close-up the overall was obviously stretching across generous curves.

Wes immediately rose with his most irresistible smile. The woman was less than impressed.

"Stars! Another fighter jock. Do we have to import them now?!" she snapped before the rebel pilot had managed a single syllable. She glared at the group, Imperials and rebels alike. "Yes, I exist. No, I'm not interested. Any other questions? I have work to do!"

Collectively, the nearest men took a step back at the vehemence of her tone. Or maybe it was the size of the wrench held in the hand she gestured with.

There were no other questions.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

It had been a few hours before Luke returned, in half a jog and alone.

"Artoo, get ready for take-off," he called to his astromech, and answered the questions about his abrupt departure for as long as it took to wriggle back into his flight-suit. Including the fact that _their_ stay might extend for an undetermined amount of time, depending on how strict Grand Admiral Tigellinus would make his quarantine.

The last thing the young Jedi heard before the canopy sealed shut around him was Hobbie's exasperated, "Man! Wes, if you absolutely had to get yourself lost on a stardestroyer, you didn't have to get _all_ _of us_ stranded there, too!"

Despite everything, Luke couldn't help but grin.


	5. Off CH 17: Friendly dragon

And now for something completely different. This is a (slightly crackish) plot bunny, err … dragon that grew out of SamuelthegreatOO's comment on the "friendly Krayt dragon taking up residence at your door step" from Ch. 17. Let's call it … _an Easter egg_. 😉

* * *

It all really started the day Luke found the egg.

Or maybe the egg found him, falling into his lap almost literally, so that Luke only had to stretch a little bit to keep it from smashing on the rocks near one of Uncle Owen's vaporators. An Urusai screeched overhead, enraged that it had been cheated out of its dinner, but Luke only held the egg tighter. It was surprisingly light to the five-year-old, for something about the size and the shape of his head, but then it was a living thing, not a rock, even if looked like one.

It was a _baby,_ really, and since Luke had just recently found out what "orphan" meant, he instantly resolved to take care of the lost little creature.

And so he did. When a cautious query if he could have a pet in the near future had netted a resounding "No!" from his uncle, Luke hid the egg, but with a determination few would have expected in a little boy, he made sure it was kept in a place that was warm but not too hot, and with enough solid stones around it to keep the warmth of the sun long into the icy nights. When the shell became worrisomely dry, some days later, Luke scraped moist sand from beneath every vaporator he could reach and piled it around the egg.

Five and a half weeks later his efforts were rewarded by the emergence of a stubby, mottled lizard the length of his arm, that promptly tried to eat Luke's fingers when he picked the remains of the shell off its head.

"No!" the five-year-old told it firmly, tapping it on the ridiculously oversized snout for emphasis, and went to search the nearby vaporators for sandflies. While the lizard eagerly devoured the sandflies, Luke tried to figure out if his new friend was a girl or a boy and finally named it "Terry" when he couldn't work it out. With the bias of being a young boy himself, he quickly assigned a male pronoun to the reptile, however.

For the next few weeks, Luke spent every free minute either feeding Terry or scrounging up food for the rapidly growing lizard. At first, Terry had meeped pathetically whenever his foster parent got out of sight, so Luke had taken to just carrying him along, clinging to his shoulders or waist under his overtunic. Aunt Beru had had to mend a lot of undertunics in those weeks, wondering how her nephew had managed to shred them so thoroughly while barely scratching his overtunic.

After two months, however, Terry had grown too heavy, too active and too curious for playing backpack, and too large for feeding on sandflies. Luke was troubled about the situation for a few days, until he found Terry happily pounce on and devour a scurrier, and from then on, food was no longer an issue.

Nor were any kind of vermin around the farm, incidentally, which turned out the deciding factor when the day came – inevitably – when Uncle Owen finally found out what Luke had been hiding all this time. "That's one ugly-looking dune lizard" was less than complimentary towards Terry, but with the grumbling blessings of his uncle, Luke could at least play fetch with Terry out in the open.

The lizard absolutely loved to grab (and shake, viciously) everything Luke threw for it. It was so much fun, apparently, that Terry had even figured out by himself that he could get more of it if he brought the projectile back to Luke afterwards to throw again. Except if it was small stones. Terry ate small stones. Luke had been shocked the first time, had even tried to get his friend to spit it out again – and Aunt Beru had nearly had a heart attack when she found her nephew with his arm halfway down a gullet fringed with vicious triangular teeth – before his aunt had explained to him that some lizards needed to do that. They couldn't chew their food properly and so the stones in their stomachs did that for them, and, why, that was even how dragon pearls were formed. Luke was happy with the new knowledge, Terry was happy with anything thrown in his general direction, and Aunt Beru was happy once Luke had promised her not to put any limbs of his into Terry's mouth ever again.

Time went and Terry continued to grow, easily outpacing his master. Luke went from "Dune lizards are _so_ cool pets!" to a tentative hope that he might have acquired an oddly colored dewback by chance. One who didn't much care for vegetables, compared to his more omnivorous brethren, but eight-year-old Luke could empathize with that. The important thing was Terry was looking to get large enough to ride on, even if his back was too bumpy to do so comfortably. Terry didn't like anyone to try and get on his back, either, but since he was generally well-behaved otherwise, and smart enough to listen to his name and follow simple commands, Luke was confident that he could convince his friend over time that dewbacks were _meant_ for riding.

Time went further and Terry grew spikes all over his back that put a serious crimp in Luke's riding plans, but the preteen was confident that he could engineer a solution around that and then he would have _the coolest ride ever!_ He never rechecked his mental image of 'dewback' against the realities of Terry's changing body shape until it was Krayt dragon mating season again, the haunting calls of the wild dragons echoed down from the mountains – and Terry called back.

Luke sat down hard. His friend's voice was still too high-pitched to get taken seriously by any adult dragons, but it was unmistakably a Krayt dragon's call. His friend who now head-bumped him curiously, who listened to "Terry", liked to get scratched above the eye-ridges and the occasional belly-rub, and who absolutely loved to play fetch, was a Krayt dragon.

Luke swallowed heavily, threw his arms around the triangular head before him – avoiding all of the nastier spikes by long habit – and whispered "Coolest pet, ever!"

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

And that is the story how Luke Skywalker – and by extension, the remote Lars moisture farm – came to keep a tame Krayt dragon for a pet. His name is Terry, and if you can spare a few creds, he's always very happy about a new frisbee. 450 mil durasteel washers are his favorites – they tend to last at least a few days.

* * *

A/N: Completely incompatible with the rest of the story, of course.  
With a Krayt dragon for a pet, Luke wouldn't need rescuing by old Ben, would get home much sooner, and a troop of stormies getting head-bumped by 10-ton Terry begging for a frisbee-throw would probably be glad to accept the reassurance of said dragon's master that he had no idea that those droids were contraband and "Have a nice day, officers." ;)


End file.
